


Thaw

by honeydewed



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: And sometimes all you really need is someone by your side, Angst but I promise it ends well, F/M, Feels, Goodbyes, Gratuitous winter and spring symbolism, Kissing, Mutual Pining, Octopath2ndAnniversary, Ophilia Clement - Freeform, Ophilia/Therion - Freeform, Pining, Post game fic no post game spoilers for the true ending, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Sometimes the road to your goal feels more satisfying than completing it, Spoilers for the ending of their personal stories though, That was a mouthful, Therion - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25153201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeydewed/pseuds/honeydewed
Summary: In time, everything thaws if given the opportunity.
Relationships: Ophilia Clement/Therion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 37





	Thaw

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in no way affiliated with Octopath Traveler or own the characters, I'm merely a fan. A post-game story with no spoilers of the post-game just the main story for Ophilia and Therion! It's been a while since I wrote a one-shot Octopath fic so figured the anniversary would be a good as day as any to post a story I've been sitting on. Thank you, everyone, who continues to write stories for these characters. Thank you for sharing your fics and posting your art. Thank you for reading and viewing and interacting. Thank you for being in this fandom. I'll keep writing so long as I have the inspiration to do so, and I hope you all continue to create. 
> 
> This author's note is longer than I wanted it to be but I'm afraid I'm rather sentimental and could gush about Octopath for ages. You don't have to read my other Ophilia/Therion fics to understand this one but I would recommend doing so if you haven't because not to toot my own horn but they're pretty good!
> 
> Thank you again.

Throughout her pilgrimage, Sister Ophilia Clement's wayward companions supported her as she supported them in their endeavors. Her sacred duty of transporting the Ember and returning it to Aelfric's Flame was treacherous. Relief steals her breath as she completes the Kindling, the Lanthorn goes dark, and she isn't beholden to looking after the Flame. An emptiness worms its way within Ophilia, the feeling can only be rivaled by the lamentation in her heart for not saying, "I love you." one final time to her father. 

Lianna is resolved to undertake an act of contrition to make amends for the transgressions she's committed against her sister and the Church. She's determined to depart with the Knights Ardante to do good in the world. The cathedral is abuzz with activity, while the high vaulted halls are often full of people they're silent and far too quiet for Lianna who's too mournful to traverse the familiar paths she walked with her father. Facing her Brothers and Sisters after her selfish impulse is too much for her, she's ashamed for betraying their faith. Lianna says with a woeful smile, she needs to make things right for the sake of her true sister. 

"May the Sacred Flame light your path on this fine day," Ophilia wishes once they're in the heart of Flamesgrace. Eliza Woodward patiently waits to escort Lianna to Whispermill. 

Lianna's smile reaches her eyes and for the briefest of moments she looks like the joyful maiden Ophilia wrote sermons with, "And may it ever shine its warmth upon you." 

Ophilia prays for her sister to find contentment and to return to Flamesgrace with her head held high. 

Her sister leaves her, swallowed up by the swirling snow and Ophilia remembers how heavy the cold feels. Alfyn's loving hand tends to her shoulder and Primrose's fingers intertwine with Ophilia's. "I needn't stay here long, His Holiness the Pontiff Julius says that I am able to take as much time as I need before I return to my duties, I'm afraid I must request something alone," Ophilia squeezes Primrose's hand and she lifts her chin to examine her home. The massive cathedral is difficult to look at, the sunlight makes the snow coating it sparkle and the light playing across the windows irritate her eyes. Tears gather near the corners of her eyes and she smiles to her companions.

Alone, Ophilia crosses the threshold of the cathedral the bitter winds curling around her. A twinge of fear twists in her stomach briefly filling the empty spot the Ember's produced. Ophilia can be deemed a heretic for stealing the role beloved Lianna was meant to take. "His Holiness," she says tenuously to a Brother she doesn't recognize. "Pray, take me to His Holiness." Not His Excellency of course, her father's no longer physically with them.

She's escorted to a familiar door, to the room her father once inhabited. She expects to see him either sitting up in his bed insisting he's well or bathed in the light from the window while reading a psalm. The Brother asks her to wait and she holds her breath the entire while. "Please, go in Sister," the young Brother smiles and holds the door open for her. 

The bearded and smiling Pontiff Julius welcomes her inside. 

The reception she experienced doesn't allay her doubts. Dismayed that now away from the public and away from the rest of the church she must face a punishment Ophilia clings to her staff for support. Apologizing to the Pontiff for taking the role of the Flamebearer from her father's trueborn daughter she pensively bows her head submissively asking for forgiveness. 

"Have you returned here permanently, Sister?" Pontiff Julius questions.

"No," she answers. "I vowed to complete the Kindling which I've undertaken and completed yet, I've found myself entangled in a new promise. I must aid those who are precious to me." Standing in the room she last visited her father sends a strange chill through Ophilia. Her knees buckle and she does her best to remain composed. "I shall return, but so long as these precious few need my help I cannot forsake them."

Pontiff Julius nods sagely as he dismisses her, "Carry on Sister, and may the light illuminate your path." 

_Thank the Flame_ , she thinks to herself as she steps out into the snow. 

"Not going home yet?" Therion's question rises above the soft snowflakes descending around them. The dark plum colors he adorns himself with and tanned skin stand out in the tundra. His hair looks white as snow, he's been kissed by winter. 

Ophilia smiles. "No," she steps forward, her boots sinking as he keeps a step ahead of her. The cold must be making her flush. "I'm afraid I shan't return for a long time," she can't call it "home." Lianna and her father aren't waiting for her and she wonders if it is her home after all. "I'd never take my leave without saying goodbye." Catching up to him is easy, he isn't leading her into a chase. Therion's good eye shifts to her as his lips hide beneath his scarf. Within the eyeshot of the cathedral, the Cleric's fingers fill the Theif's as she proclaims, "I'd never leave without saying it to you first." 

The Fool's bangle jingles. 

* * *

The party disperses with tear ridden farewells and lingering embraces. The eight of them split across the far-reaching corners of Orsterra either returning to where they belong or where they're meant to be. 

When Ophilia was orphaned as a child, her heart fractured splintering into a thousand little pieces and became incapable of loving anyone. His Excellency tended the broken parts and delicately created a new form while Lianna's affections mended the cracks. As she and her friends part, her heart break, though she's sure it isn't truly breaking. As she lovingly draws away from them, her plump lips gracing their cheeks, she instills unto them a piece of her heart. Just as she carried the Flame, they are to carry a piece of her heart within her own. Her heart's been filled by the pieces of their hearts.

Professor Cyrus bows with a graceful flourish as his deft hand catches hers. Delicately kissing her knuckles his honeyed lips leave her with a fond, "Farewell, sweet Ophilia." The smile on his comely face urges her to silently say a prayer on his behalf so he'll not get in over his head, again. "I fear I've never been gifted at articulating my sentiments towards others." He clasps her hand within both of his, "Do know meeting you was serendipitous and if I were ever capable of undertaking our obligations again I'd be honored to repeat our quests together in a heartbeat, sweet lady. Pray, should you ever find yourself in Noblecourt do call upon me, I'd be pleased to be in your company once more." He's far too charming for his own good, she thinks to herself blushing as she waves him off with a smile. 

Tressa spreads her wings soon after, the salty scent of the sea calling to her. "I wrote about you in my journal, you know," Tressa's obtained a new one since she gave Noa her previous one. She's feverishly been filling the pages of her new journal retelling how she and her friends met and what they've faced on the road. "I hope," she tries not to cry as she draws Ophilia into a hug, "I hope I can write about you again! Maybe one day, I'll visit you in Flamesgrace!" The path to Tressa's seaside home will be traveled often by the merchant, Ophilia's certain of it. The young girl parts with the group excitedly waving before she runs off. Ophilia prays Tressa will take the road home often, and travel across Orsterra again and even farther than that. Hopefully, the rest of the world will have time to prepare for Tressa Colzione. 

Sir Olberic locks Ophilia in a hug so tight it'd make a steel trap envious! The wind's knocked out of her lungs and her feet leave the ground while he hides his tears within the strands of her pale hair. "I've," he brings her back down to earth looking away from her. She lays her hand atop his forearm encouraging him to speak. "I've never been skilled with farewells." He claps both hands on her shoulders while he booms enthusiastically, "Peace unto you, dear Sister! I was honored to act as your shield and proud to be your sword." There's nothing Ophilia can wish for him that he hasn't already achieved so she thanks him. 

Primrose and Sir Olberic began their travels together and so they leave together. He's saddled up a donkey for their departure as he'll be escorting the Lady Azelhart to Noblecourt. Stripped of her gold and bedlah Primrose still shines like a diamond even in a simple cotton dress. Refined Primrose kisses Ophilia's forehead as a smile untouched by regret or melancholy paints her gorgeous face. "Pray, stay as you are Ophilia," playfully Primrose winks. "May our paths cross again one day." Atop the donkey's back with Olberic leading it she blows a kiss into the wind, somehow Ophilia feels it grace her cheeks, and her legs quake. Ophilia prays with all her heart Primrose can find happiness. 

She, Therion, H'annit, and Alfyn remain together as they're traveling north and west. One quiet evening around the gentle glow of their campfire, Linde's ears perk. The song of a familiar wolf calls H'annit into the lush woods. "I shalle not be afeared whilst we take this unknown road. Thy journey together has lenden me strength," H'annit proclaims while Linde brushes her great head against Ophilia's legs purring all the while. Encasing the cleric with her strong arms the hunter says, "Thy shalle eternally be mine dearest friends, all of thee." H'annit retreats into the quiet night, as Ophilia wishes her bountiful hunts and safety. 

Alfyn accompanies Ophilia to Flamesgrace. His arms latch around her as he spins Ophilia around in a vain attempt to make her laugh. Tears fill Ophilia's doe-like eyes and run down her cheeks. "Sorry," he apologizes bringing her down and leaning on her. "Sorry," even grown-ups need to cry and he tells her so she sobs into his chest. He too weeps openly and she cleans his face with her second favorite handkerchief. He sinks into her hand and beams down at her looking bright as the sun. She knocks her nose into his until he laughs and he clears his throat. "You stay hale and hearty, hear?" he asks seriously putting on his professional voice. "Otherwise, you best believe I'll be back," he bestows upon her a balm and takes the long road to his riverside home. Ophilia prays he'll soothe everyone he crosses. 

After H'annit departed Alfyn and Ophilia awoke to Therion missing. He left one day like an errant wind vanishing into the cold as it sailed across a snowdrift. "Therion," she hissed between her teeth biting curse. "You wicked thing." He robbed her of the chance of properly parting with him. He stole her wish to say "goodbye."

She and Alfyn spent their final night together in the tavern, but it's time for her to return to the cathedral. 

Pontiff Julius calls for all the Brothers and Sisters to meet when Ophilia returns. 

"Sister Ophilia Clement," Pontiff Julius calls her to his side before the Sacred Flame. "Sister Ophilia Clement undertook the Kindling, and those that worship the Flame witnessed her delivering the light. Bishop Bartolo wrote to me, he'd not encountered a light as kind and warm as Ophilia's in all his years of service." A quiet murmur erupts, but the Pontiff lifts his hand silencing them. Ophilia stares at him in awe. "Bishop Donovan's young daughter was recovered from an unspeakable peril by our sister and he wrote to me with the hope we continue to thank her for delivering his child from a horrible fate. She revealed to our church Mattias was preying upon our flock, he deceived us, and murdered our dear Josef," his voice remains resolute but she can see a sad twinge in his eye. "She returned our Lianna to us. Eliza of the Knights Ardante, other knights, and parishioners of our church have come to me with tales of our Ophilia tending to our brothers and sisters that were in need." His gentle hand rests atop her shoulder, "We owe a great deal to our Sister, all of Orstetta does. If there be any among you that suggest we should be anything but honored to see her home hale and hearty, know I absolve Ophilia of any wrongdoing despite her impudent behavior. I believe the good she's brought to Orsterra has outweighed any misdeeds she's committed. If you wish to confront me about this matter please know I humbly suggest you pray to Aelfric in the hope He makes it possible for you to be more forgiving and kind like Sister Ophilia." 

"Welcome back, dear," an older Sister, Cristina who has been part of the Church since before Ophilia was a child draws her back into the fold of clerics. 

Young Brother Phoebus steps forward smiling, "It's good to have you home."

"We're so happy you're back," old Brother Tom's wizened face softens.

A cheerful young face Ophilia later learns is named Maria cheers, "Thank the Flame you were kept safe."

Ophilia's eyes close holding back tears, she's cried so much she was certain there were more left but she's proven wrong. "I'm pleased to be here," she sags against the older Sister. "It's, it's so wonderful to return." 

The room shared by herself and Lianna is empty. No refugee has taken up residence in the bed across from hers. There's not a large-eyed waif snuggled up in the blankets. No lady of the night wishing to take on a different kind of work is brushing her hair by the window. Her room is untouched, it's been cleaned, but it looks no different from when she left.

A quiet fire set alight by Sister Maria politely crackles in the silent room. Light pours in through the exaggerated arched windows. Closing the door behind her, Ophilia's boots soundlessly move across the rich red rug and she traces her hand along the table. She notices the sheets are a different color from when she left beneath the thick red coverlets. Raising her chin to the windows she watches the snow swirl outside. Frost clings to the glass, creating swirls that mimic the wind. Ophilia hovers near the left bed closest to the window, her bed, as something inside her cracks. The happy tears she's shed with her Brothers and Sisters have left her eyes puffy and the dread she ferried terrified she'd not be welcomed back home has vanished like a cotton ball in a field of snow. Knees press against the cool floor and she huffs out a silent cry. 

Her father isn't occupying his room. 

Lianna isn't in the bed beside her. 

The Ember's been returned to where it's destined to be. 

Orsterra's been saved. 

Her friends are where they belong.

 _I'm lonely,_ she wants to wail as she rears her head back her plump lips part. _I miss all of you._ Ophilia can't manage to make anything beyond a choked strangled noise from deep inside her chest. The emptiness she felt since she completed the Kindling feels overwhelming and no amount of smiles or honeycakes can make her feel better. She's glad Lianna can't see her now on her knees and feeling sorry for herself. There was no time to pity herself when she was with her beloved companions. 

The silence is deafening, she wishes Professor Cyrus could mirthfully lecture her about a subject he deemed interesting. She wishes to see Tressa sitting by the fireside frantically filling in her blank pages or turning objects in her small hands examining them to see if they're special. The sound of Sir Olberic's whetstone sharpening his blade or politely correcting her form to better defend herself would be a blessing. The feeling of Primrose's hand filling her own and noble compassion shining through her hardened exterior would be a welcomed relief. She yearns to see Alfyn's smiling face and smell the scent of freshly picked flowers for him to grind down with his mortar and pestle. The weight of Linde's massive head purring in her lap and H'annit's shoulder against her own while she made her arrows is exactly where Ophilia wishes she could be.

Thinking about Therion breaks any resolve binding her heart together. She misses Therion most of all. Curse him, for taking not only her ability to wish him farewell but for also stealing the opportunity for her to ask him to stay. He needn't steal her heart, she ruefully seals her lips. She'd happily offer all the pieces that are hers to give to him if he wished to have them.

She misses the warmth of his palm against her bare hand while the tender flesh of his lips caress her cuticles and knuckles. The image of him surrounded by fresh green flowers feels as far away as spring in the Riverlands. The thought of him helplessly struggling to breathe in his sickbed while she wets his forehead and prays to Aelfric to make him well again sends a tremor through her. Those impossibly lovely lips touch the skin of a red apple as he bites into the fruit's flesh and smiles while tenderly teasing her is impossible to forget. The weight of his fingers tether her from floating into the sky, walking by his side is walking on air. 

He's a man redeemed. Or rather, he's redeemed his view of people watching him open his heart even after so many acts of unkindness being cast upon him makes it impossible for Ophilia not to love him. 

The truth of the matter is, Ophilia loves Therion.

"Oh dear Aelfric," she moans into the dark ground and wills herself to her feet. She needs to sit down and her bed's a good a place as any. 

The entire night becomes an adversary more formidable than any she faced on the road. Her bedclothes twist uncomfortably around her bed feels entirely too soft, she curses herself for missing the entirely too thin or lumpy mattresses with coarse coverlets she slept in at various inns. The road's become more comfortable, but Ophilia knows that's untrue, at least her back hasn't seized up and her lower back isn't aching. 

Daybreak is still hours away and she wonders if there's any honeycakes in the larder or she'll be met with hardtack instead. Ophilia tugs on her robe, the cathedral's cold and her fire's long gone, the chill of the stone on the bottoms of her feet is broken up by occasionally stepping on the grand rugs. 

No one's awake to putter about in the kitchen. The silence rings in her ears and makes every creak, every step, every movement all the louder. "Alas," there is no felicitous food within to snack on. Had she remained in the cathedral after the Kindling surely there would be something to delicious to eat, she idly examines a jar of rose jam before setting it back on the shelf. A bottle of cherry cordial tempts her briefly as does the ale, but she steps away realizing she's neither thirsty nor hungry. 

The windows in the kitchen aren't as fantastic as the others but there's enough room on the window sill for her to sit upon so she does scooping her feet up from the ground and leaning against the frigid glass. If only she had a thimble to make designs with the frost. 

Ophilia sits by the window for a few minutes or perhaps it's hours, it's difficult to tell in the dark. "Oh Aelfric!" Sister Cristina's hands fly in the air as the plump woman opens the door. "Ophilia," she hisses, "By the gods, get away from that window." Cristina tuts and Ophilia guiltily rests her fingers against her collar realizing she's not closed her robe. "You'll catch your death," Cristina's hand draws her away from the window as her pale eyes search Ophilia's face. "And your hair! Sister, have you been standing on your head all night? Or perhaps doing cartwheels?" With a hand against Ophilia's back, Cristina leads her to a table. "You sit down now, Cristina shall take care of everything," the older Sister smiles. "How pale and pinched you look, dear," Cristina prattles as she pumps some water and then lights the stove. 

Ophilia listens to her speak and watches as Cristina makes oatmeal. "There now, eat up," Cristina serves a small bowl with honey. Ophilia politely says a prayer and Cristina sits down to eat as well.

Brothers and Sisters fill the kitchen searching for breakfast. Ophilia picks at her food toying with the honey and occasionally staring back out the window. 

Usually, young Brothers and Sisters will light the candles. Ophilia's taken the monotonous task for herself, careful to mind her fingers about tshe tiny flame. The quiet time she spends in prayer at her Sister's side her mind wanders. She asks to sweep the steps of the cathedral and nibbles on hardtack instead of a midday meal. Ophilia's eyes drift to the Flame in their church, so bright, and brilliant. She nearly cuts her finger off while preparing potatoes for a soup for widowed parishioners and nearly burns it later. She eats hardtack again for dinner and wanders off into her room until the morning light.

Her sighs cool her oatmeal. She asks she can wash windows or reorganize books. Halfway through a psalm, Ophilia struggles to find the words. She pours soup for her neighbors and graciously accepts their smiles but she hopes they don't see an empty smile being shown to them. 

Days pass, that emptiness that's filled up so much of Ophilia becomes numb. 

"What's wrong, dear?" Sister Cristina requests in their small sewing circle of three, they're making new clothes for the orphans. Sister Maria's bright eyes dart from the older sister to the young one. 

Ophilia pulls the needle and thread sharply as she finishes a stitch. "Wrong?" Ophilia innocently questions. Thorns sprout from her defensive words, "Nothing's wrong." 

"Ah," Cristina says as she adjusts her spectacles. "My mistake."

Maria's knitting a woolen cap but she's dropped the stitch twice now and will have to repair it. The silence makes the needles piercing. 

"Pray, what would be wrong?" Ophilia asks when she can't stand it any longer. 

"I've been here for ages, here far longer than you, and here even before Brother Josef," Cristina begins. The name of her father ceases Ophilia's needle as she finally looks away from her work. "With the Ember in his care, he undertook the Kindling so I wished him farewell knowing he may not return but I was pleased to see him home hale and hearty." The fire crackles besides the women. "He was a fine young man," Cristina sets a handkerchief in her lap, she'd been embroidering flowers on it. "But when he came back, o was he sour."

"His Excellency?" Ophilia asks unable to picture it. 

"Aye," Cristina laughs wiping her glasses clean. "Did you see a cactus in your travels?" the question is innocuous and Ophilia nods. "I always heard them to be prickly, but sweet inside." Ophilia's stomach twists as she thinks of Therion. "Brother Josef told me about the cactus. He saw so much what we've merely read and shall never see." Cristina's glasses return to her face, "By I live and breathe, I know from deep in my heart there's nowhere else on this good earth he'd rather have lived. It took some time for him to become accustomed to the quiet instead of the sound of the road. I'm sure he learned to like the company of us again instead of his vagabonds he helped." Cristina picks up her handkerchief again, blue blooming from the white. "If you could be anywhere, Sister Ophilia where would you be?" 

_With Therion_ , sits on her tongue. "I know not," Ophilia's tongue is constricted by a white lie because she doesn't know where the Thief is. 

* * *

  
Therion misses Ophilia, he realizes this at the bottom of his tankard as a sudden clarity overtakes his mind. He doesn't drink. Drinking dulls his senses and slows Therion down and he remembers why he doesn't drink when he stands and his head swims. One's enough. Dropping some leaves on the counter the barkeep thanks him heartily and Therion marches into the night.

In the embrace of the cool night air he instinctively searches for a radiant light to guide him. There's no warm form at his side to ignite his blood and battle the chill. 

In the morning his teeth pierce the fine red flesh of a delectable apple and he thinks, it should be cut like rabbits. 

The sweetness of her lips and hot flesh of her ungloved hands are like dreams left behind in spring. 

Therion loves Ophilia, he realizes when he closes his eyes and pictures the earnest shape of her smiling lips and sunny laughter. His heart thumps. He's never loved anyone before and more terrifying that no one's ever loved him. 

He fills his palms with leaves but they feel empty. 

He pilfers a brooch the blue stone in the center and thinks it would look wonderful pinned on her breast. 

Therion left her before she could leave him. He can still picture her merry goodbye as her lips graced his cheek. He can still hear her voice, "Pray be good now." He misses all of them and he thinks that maybe he loves them. He loves Ophilia most of all and he wants her to love him back just as desperately even though there's nothing he can give her.

He misses the way her face reddened as he teased her. He misses her gentle reprimands. The prayers on her tongue before a meal and gentle hymns she sang in the evenings when she couldn't sleep, are sounds he can't live without. The beauty of her face illuminated by the gentle moonlight and Ember has burned itself into his memory. The searing heat of her lips against his could draw a "Hallelujah" from him. If he hadn't met gods or fought against them he would have been made a believer by the feeling of her lips. 

He can't be anything more than he is. Broken and prickly as he is, she cared for him despite himself.

Every breath Therion draws without her makes his chest heavier. The weight of the Fool's Bangle on his wrist can't compare to the weight dragging him down, down, down. 

He hasn't drunk since the night he left but he's slow and he feels dull. 

Telling himself he didn't feel lonely when he was left alone was easy. After he's made friends, true friends, it becomes a harder lie to tell. 

He can't pretend he's a cold and broken man anymore because he isn't. Slowly but surely, his friends have pieced him back together. They've brought back his smile, they restored his laugh, and they resurrected his faith in others. He wants to believe if he does go to Ophilia know she'll welcome him with open arms and he'll be able to draw a kiss from her lips. 

Therion leaves come daybreak through the lush forests and into the Frostlands. On his way he mentally asks every god he knows to see his path is safe so he can speak to Ophilia.

He's done nothing but take in his life, but there's something he needs to give. 

* * *

Moonbeams make the snow shimmer in a gentle way the sun cannot. Ophilia recalls the nights of the full moon during her travels as she stares at it hanging high in the evening sky. The path is easier to see and if the party couldn't tarry on the treacherous road they traveled by the cool moonlight and the torches to seek sanctuary. 

It isn't often she finds herself on the second floor of the cathedral but she's asked to take quiet chores away from Cristina's questions and to rescue fair Maria from being forced into an awkward situation. "Is it a man, dear?" Ophilia mimics the older woman as she stares into her reflection in the same window she's cleaned at least four times throughout the evening. Earlier in the day when the question was posed silence stunned Ophilia and she could only manage to release a squeak that welled in her cheeks. 

Ophilia's breath fogs up the glass, but the heat's consumed by the scathing chill outside. She should turn in for the night, everyone's surely tucked in bed, and her listlessly roaming the halls like a lovelorn martyr is silly. She is no ghost, she is no embittered White Woman doomed to wail and grieve what's been lost. She shouldn't feel sorry for herself, His Excellency wouldn't like it and Lianna certainly wouldn't. If only she could ask her father for his advice once more. What she'd give to talk to him about the Kindling and how he felt when he crossed the threshold of the cathedral. He'd certainly say something about her forlornly completing her duties and only picking at her food instead of eating it. 

She mustn't think of Therion, she closes her eyes and decides she shouldn't give into her selfish pity any longer.

She sees his hair in the moon. The docile moonbeams are like the messy fringe that hangs in his face, imperfect and beautiful like the moonlight on rippling water. She turns away from the inconsistent moon so she can attempt to sleep. Down the stairs she goes and through the silent halls. When she opens the door, the fire looks inviting and warm. Therion's crouched before it warming his hands and he straightens himself out standing tall and proud by the time she realizes he's there. Ophilia noiselessly closes the door behind her, both hands resting on the handles as she wordlessly stares at him. 

"It's cold," Therion says simply like that's all he has to say to her. 

Silence blooms between them, neither of them either no what to say or if they should. Therion closes the space between them taking one tenuous step after another.

"It's always cold," Ophilia says at last. The fire's not warmed her in ages, but she suddenly feels the heat from it. "Pray, warm yourself," she steps to the side closer to the fireplace which cracks and burns bright. "No need to catch a chill on my account." 

"Would you nurse me back to good health if I did?" his voice is suddenly close to her and she curses for him for being as fleetfooted as a Cait and just as elusive. 

"Yes," Ophilia says without hesitation and turns to him. Her eyebrows must be creasing her forehead and she hopes she isn't pouting. "In a heartbeat." 

Therion caresses her name rolling it off his tongue ardently, "Ophilia."

No one says Ophilia's name in the same way he does. It isn't graceful as a hymn being sung, filled with the same devotion she uses to call unto Aelfric, or with the same desperation people request alms but it's beautiful, needy, and faithful. The way Therion looks at her isn't the same way the parishioners view her as she's no longer the righteous Flamebearer. He doesn't regard her with the same respect and reverence her Brothers and Sisters now approach her with and the way he looks at her makes her tremor despite being so close to the fire. "I," he begins to say she suddenly recalls fighting alongside him. The raging flames he calls upon to aid him in battle and the warmth of the Ember on her hip. She remembers the weight of his shoulder against hers on cold nights and the searing scorch of his lips. "I'm," he hides behind his scarf and she wants nothing more at this moment to see his face. His nose is crooked and his face plain but there's no face she'd rather behold than his. "...Sorry." 

"Why?"

Therion turns away from her shy like a child and equally uncertain. An envious green eye stares at the fire and she's met with his hair spun from winter and moonlight. 

"Why?" she asks again biting back her urgent inclinations. Curiously she reaches out her palm against his face as she draws his eye to her face. 

His thumb presses into her wrist, and she wonders if he can feel her pulse. Therion's voice rumbles, but a vulnerability trembling in his low admission, "I left." He draws her hand away from his face but doesn't look away. 

"You did leave, you wicked thing," she confirms. "You left and you didn't let me say goodbye!" Her voice cracks harsh as a whip despite her only going up an octave. He winces. Ophilia tries to remain harsh, "How could you do such a thing? That, that isn't fair. You're not fair." In the end she can only manage to sound petulant.

"I," he hesitates as his thumb trails from her wrist into her palm, the rest of his fingers following suit and shielding her knuckles. "I didn't," even though Ophilia can't hear it she knows he's saying the word "stupid" to himself. "I didn't want you to say goodbye." A deep unbearable loneliness fills his eyes. Ophilia wants to tell him he's the most foolish man in all of Orsterra, even though the Bangle's no longer embracing his wrist. He left to not hear her farewell, but he never allowed her to request something else of him. 

"You said to me once, in this world if you wish for something you must take it without faltering, so you never feel remorse," Ophilia says almost irrelevantly. "Regret is life's poison." Her arm wraps around him, as her hand draws his down, her fingers loosening his grip and filling the spaces they're meant to fill. Warmth pools in her stomach, and her heart's being forged at the moment surrounded by nothing but heat and excitement. Ophilia's face burns and from the tender flames she sees his eye widen. It's the first time since she parted with her most precious people she's felt hot. "Have you come here to ensure you shan't regret something? Do you intend to take something, what shall you take from here?"

"...You think I came here to take something?" 

"Perhaps," Ophilia's heart is wild, beating with an excitement she's not felt in ages. Her blood's boiling and she wants to press herself further into him so no one can know where he ends and where she begins. His hand rests on her hip, igniting the place where his palm curves. He dips his head and she meets him, her lips hovering close to where his mouth is as she closes her eyes. "Though, you might ask if you're taking anything at all." Therion trembles and Ophilia's suddenly very awake so her doe-like eyes open again sharp and strong. The sleepy veil of listlessness has been lifted like snow melting on the ground. "Should what you came for goes with you willingly." 

Therion looks mesmerized, entranced by her face as she feels his breath fluttering against her lips. "Now who's not playing fair?" he swallows hard and she feels his snowy hair intertwining with her platinum hair, his blazing forehead against hers. 

This winter man has brought her sunlight, cracking what's been frozen inside of her and thawing it. Is it possible to eternally feel spring? Ophilia wonders as her lips brush against the fabric on his face. Therion brings both of their hands higher and the tangle of their fingers draw the scarf down. 

Ophilia pours herself into him, like water melted from the sunlight. His mouth is searing, and the breath from his nostrils caressing her cheek like the first warm breath of spring. She traces her tongue against his lower lip and the hand on her hip holds her tighter, more desperately. He kisses every part he can reach. His lips are on her mouth on the cluster of freckles about her nose, on her cheeks and he pulls away from her first. Leaving her hanging in the air and the ghost of heat against her body. "Ophilia," he says looking at her as though she's been stripped of her Clerical ornamentation because he looks at her like she's a woman. No holy lady of light in his eyes, she closes the space between them and rests her head beneath his chin feeling a sense of peace because she knows there's nowhere in Orsterra she'd rather be. 

The hunger between them has been satiated but in the pit of her stomach, Ophilia wants more. She wants to race her bare hand against his coarse face and to always be in his arms. "Therion," she challenges feeling his heartbeat. 

Reluctantly his hand untwists from hers and he scoops both of his hands beneath her arse. Lifting her off the ground he challenges, "I only take what I can carry." She must look as elegant as a sack of apples across his shoulder. 

"To the door then," she says while blushing, "But pray put me down once we get there if you're taking me anywhere we'll need supplies."

"You'd steal from the church?" he tuts. "You? Ophilia Clement?" 

"It isn't stealing," she admonishes. "It's alms." 

* * *

Come morning, the only sign Sister Ophilia Clement was ever in her room is a note left on the table.

_His Holiness said I may take as much time as I need before I return to my duties. I'm afraid I'll require more time before I return. May the Sacred Flame light your path on this fine day, and may you find happiness as I have._

_Ophilia Clement_

* * *

Ophilia is guided from the cold, holding onto Therion's hand the whole time. He's eerily silent as he walks, the Fool's Bangle was truly like putting a bell around a cat's neck. She listens to their boots sink into the snow and she guides their path with a less sacred lantern. 

The woods in the distance are inky and dark against the sheer white snow. It's hard to believe they're green at all until the snow begins to melt and they're surrounded by the dauntless evergreen trees. She breathes in the fresh air. The snow covers up filth and decay, as pretty as it is there's an underlying scent to it that Ophilia's always found unpleasant. She'd rather see the rot and ruin through sprouting mushrooms and bones. 

Pretending there's no unpleasantness in the world makes it easier to ignore what should be appreciated. 

"I didn't say goodbye to Alfyn either you know," he says stomping the snow from his feet and shaking off his poncho. "Do you think we should pay him a visit?"

Where they go doesn't matter so long as they're together. With the gales at their backs and the road outstretched before them, she'll happily go where he leads. Ophilia smiles, "Oh." Her fingers squeeze around his gently. "I think he'd like that." 

"Yeah," Therion smiles tugging his scarf down. "I think so too." 

His nose is red from the chill, crooked, and imperfect but there's none other Ophilia would rather kiss. She smooches his nose quickly, almost shy while drawing him into the greenery farther and farther away from perpetual winter and into their spring.

The world looks new now, Ophilia realizes while she leads him and her heart's been thawed and soul thoroughly kindled. 


End file.
